I owned the T-shirt before I bought the album. It was cool. The
T-shirt, that is. Bright green with neon pink, raised letters that
stated simply, "Psychedelic Furs." Very avant garde for an
education major! Since I worked at my friend's record store and got
most of my pay in albums, I figured I'd take a chance and get the
"Pfurs" newest offering,
Talk, Talk, Talk.
At first it seemed exciting. Richard Butler sings with that sneering, world-weary voice that makes you believe he doesn't give a fuck. The guitars were layered over each other. They surged forward and ran "into you like a train," as the best song on the album was titled. The lyrics were like a half-sobbed sigh of despair. There was even saxophone bleating high in the mix, so anti-new wave that it was cool.
The "Pfurs" seem to have never quite broken through, at least in the US. There was always someone a little more radical for the underground punks, someone a little more accessible for the weekend safety-pin types. Then, "Pretty In Pink" was used as the theme song for the teen angst movie of the same name. Suddenly the Furs were big with the hip, teen crowd.
I don't know. The excitement just isn't there for me anymore. What used to seem like decadent energy now seems like a feeble attempt at cultivating a demographic. I pull Talk, Talk, Talk out every once in a while, whenever I want to fantasize about Molly Ringwald. Richard Butler has gone on to a new band called Love Spit Love. Same idea, updated for the '90's. I don't expect to hear much from them after a while. Their demographic has moved on.